


Natura Mirante

by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, cryptids???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santamonicayachtclub/pseuds/makemadej
Summary: If pressed, Ryan might confess Shane has a very unfairly skewed ratio of enticing to unenticing traits. But there are still a few he doesn't know about yet.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 35
Kudos: 110
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Advent Calendar





	Natura Mirante

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Bee and Jess for breathing this advent idea into reality! The title means "nature wonders" and comes from the carol Gaudete.

Ryan doesn’t consider himself a stubborn guy. He knows what he likes and what he believes, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t open to changing his mind. So when Shane claims to be coming down with something right before Christmas, it takes all of Ryan’s willpower to respect his wishes by not mother-henning him into an early grave, but he manages.

It’s not COVID, they tick that off the list right away. The two of them have been getting tested like clockwork ever since they expanded their quarantine bubble to include each other, with Shane’s apartment as the central point of interaction.

Ryan wouldn’t say he’s _moved in_ with him, per se, just that an awful lot of his stuff has migrated over to Shane’s place in the past few months, much in the same way his body tends to migrate into Shane’s personal space. Sometimes it happens mouth-first, but it’s hardly his fault Shane has very enticing collarbones that are right at Ryan’s eye level. 

If pressed, Ryan might confess Shane has a very unfairly skewed ratio of enticing to unenticing traits. He’s still working himself up to it. Not because he can’t admit it to himself—again, he knows what he likes, and then some—but because it makes his heart hiccup between beats when he imagines admitting it to Shane. 

Shane, who made a big production of his nonchalance when he told Ryan to go spend the holidays with his family.

“It’s no big deal,” Shane had reassured him. “I’ll be fine just chilling here, and I don’t want to get you sick if I’m coming down with something.” 

And Ryan had almost been able to believe him. 

He’s been at his parents’ house less than a day before the guilt sets in. Shane swears up and down that he’s fine each time Ryan texts him, but the thing is, it’s not in Shane’s nature to admit when he _isn’t_ fine.

This is how Ryan ends up spending Christmas Eve making the harrowing drive back to LA. He doesn’t notify Shane in advance, just shows up at his apartment with extra tissues, one of the sherpa Professor blankets he swiped from their merch, and a mason jar of his mom’s caldo de pollo.

“Hey,” he announces, hip-checking the door shut behind him. “Just so you know, I’m fully prepared to hunker down and spoon-feed you, so you can skip the stage where you get all exasperated about it.”

Shane is curled up on the couch, mostly obscured by a comforter. There’s something happening somewhere foresty on the TV in front of him. “Ryan?” He sounds sleep-muzzy and a little stricken, Ryan notes, but not _sick_.

“I know I said I’d leave you alone,” Ryan begins, “it’s just—” 

“You need to leave,” Shane interjects briskly. Somehow, he sinks even deeper into his blanket nest. The only part of him Ryan can see is the pale sweep of one hand. “I’m trying not to be an asshole, but I really need you to get out.”

Anxiety leaps up Ryan’s brain stem. “Are you seriously that sick? We can get you to the ER, my car’s right outside.”

There’s a long, epoch-shifting silence.

“I’m not sick,” Shane finally admits resignedly. “I just need to be alone, okay? I’m not trying to be an asshole, I swear. Can you please just trust me?”

“I always trust you,” Ryan says without hesitation, trying not to sound stung. “I’m just gonna put this in the fridge and then you can get back to watching...what even is this, Alone?”

“It’s very soothing!”

“Whatever. Oh, I brought you an extra blanket too, here, lemme just...” Ryan drapes it over the back of the couch and reaches to give Shane’s comforter a tug. If he’s going to graciously take his leave without arguing, the least he can do is leave Shane cozier than when he found him.

Shane sputters, and on the far arm of the couch, the top of his head comes into view.

“Oh, dude,” Ryan breathes. 

In the low lighting, it looks like Shane’s wearing a set of fake antlers. Ryan isn’t sure whether to tease him or feel bad for him at first—it has to suck spending the holidays alone, even by choice. Maybe he’s trying to be festive in his own solitary way. Then Shane opens his eyes.

Ryan, to his immense credit, doesn’t scream. “Okay,” he says, in a tone so calm he barely recognizes it. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I really think we need to get you to a doctor.”

“Ryan,” Shane says softly, as if his pupils aren’t so dilated his gaze looks almost completely black.

“It’s gonna be a shitshow trying to get to the ER during a pandemic during the freaking holidays, but this is clearly an emergency, man, holy shit. I can’t believe you tried to tell me you’re not sick, that’s fucking unbelievable, I’m gonna call—”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane says again, and sits up.

It isn’t just some trick of the forest-filled flatscreen and the dim lighting. “You look...green,” Ryan says blankly.

The half-shrug and half-smile Shane gives him are impossibly nonchalant. “It isn’t easy.” He pats the sofa beside him with one spindly hand. “You might wanna sit.”

Ryan obliges. “I think,” he says deliberately, “that there’s something growing out of your head.”

“Oh, that?” Shane says with the infuriating chill of someone who has no right to be chill in the slightest. “Nothing new. Pre-existing condition, nothing to worry about.”

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t worry about it because, gotta say, I’m not convinced.”

“It’s genetic.”

“What is, being a,” Ryan gropes for the right words to sum up the Shane in front of him, “a were-reindeer Sasquatch?”

“Leshy,” Shane corrects mildly. “Forest giants, pretty tame, nothing like the ones in The Witcher. Classic European shit, you might say. It’s a little hard to explain.”

“What I might say,” Ryan sputters, “is that you never even tried to explain this! To _me_ , the last person in the world who’s gonna doubt the existence of cryptids. Or was that part of the appeal, you get to hide in plain sight and let me call you a Bigfoot so I never suspect you’re an _actual_ Bigfoot? What other cryptids are running around?”

“I’m a vestige of Polish folklore,” Shane says primly. “And I have no fucking idea. It’s a recessive gene that pops out every few generations and makes Christmas really weird.”

“I’m sorry, you’re a _Christmas_ cryptid?”

“It’s kind of a solstice thing.” Shane looks mournful. “Normally I fly home and just stay in with the fam, but travel restrictions kinda threw a wrench in that this year.” 

This time, Ryan doesn’t try to keep the hurt out of his voice. “It sure did. So you tried to chase me away in order to hole up like the Jolly Green Giant minus the jolly. It’s supposed to be the jolliest time of the year!”

“I didn’t know how to explain the whole situation in a way that wouldn’t freak you out! Like, ‘hey, babe, ghosts aren’t real but _this_ is!’ or whatever.”

“Fair point,” Ryan acknowledges, “except ghosts are totally real and I’m still a little mad at you.” He lets his gaze drift over the delicate antlers cresting Shane’s head like twin crowns. “I’ll be less mad if I can touch these, though. Is that okay?” 

Shane looks both shy and incredulous, no mean feat in his current state. “You want to?”

“I’m curious, but I don’t want to objectify your leshy-ness,” Ryan says, flashing his cheekiest grin. 

Even though his eyes are completely black, Shane somehow gives the impression he’s rolling them. “Sure. Go ahead.”

And Ryan does. Ryan strokes through his hair, nuzzles his cheek, traces the curve of his jaw with his lips. The antler, when he traces them with tentative fingers, are smooth and solid and not at all as jarring as he expected. Shane is still _his_ Shane, just a little different, like someone slapped a weird instagram filter on him and brought it into the real world.

“I like it,” he declares after a minute.

“Monster fucker,” Shane says, amused. 

“You’re not a monster,” Ryan tells him fiercely. “You’re my sexy, weird, definitely-not-a-cryptid boyfriend and I want to kiss you.” 

Shane’s eyes drop away from his gaze. “I was going to tell you,” he says, and in that instant, in spite of everything, he manages to seem small.

Gently, Ryan crooks a knuckle under his chin and guides his head back up. “One more question.”

Shane gives him a wary look. “Go on.”

“You ever had someone sit in your lap and dry hump you while holding onto your antlers?”

Shane's brows rise. “No.”

Ryan grins. “You wanna?”


End file.
